The quiet after the call that didn’t go right

It’s 1:30, and I’m sitting with a cup of tea that’s gone cold. The last call today—someone screaming about a collapsed ceiling in a basement, voice cracking like dry wood—didn’t end well. No one made it out. I still hear the way they said ‘I can’t breathe’ over the static. Not my fault. But it sticks. Like old shoes you keep because they fit too well. Today, I noticed how the rain stopped just as I looked up from the console. For three seconds, the world was silent. That’s all it took.